


Bite Me!

by whiskysour (whiskygalore)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugged Dean, Gangbang, M/M, foodplay, mentions of cannibalism, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskygalore/pseuds/whiskysour
Summary: Spn kink meme prompt: Dean gets captured by a pack of demons whilst working a case. All signs point to them devouring human flesh, so he rants and rails about how he hopes the sons of bitches choke on him to help cover his fear.The demons don't actually eat humans, but playing with Dean's fear is so much fun that they play along with the idea. They drug him so he's groggy and weak, but not out of it. Then they strip him down and truss him up with twine on his knees, set him on a giant silver platter, shove an apple in his mouth and 'serve' him on the dining table in front of the entire pack.He's expecting to get ripped to shreds by their teeth, so he's more than a little surprised when the first demon climbs up onto the table behind him and starts fucking him. And because the drug they gave him was an aphrodisiac, he's more than a little into it, eager and ready to take every last one of their cocks.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Other(s)
Kudos: 104
Collections: Supernatural Kink Meme





	Bite Me!

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old (seriously, years old) fill for an spn kink meme prompt. I’m just trying to get all my eggs in one basket, or all my kink in one place at least. Dirty wrong kink be here!!

Unfortunately, it’s not the first time Dean has woken up lying face down on cold stone floor with his wrists bound together behind his back. It is, however, the first time he has woken up in this position buck-naked. It’s not a pleasant experience.

His body feels heavy, almost weighed down. It’s a real struggle to open his eyes, and when he eventually makes the effort to turn his head to the side and pry them open it's hardly worth his while. It’s pitch black. He can barely see an inch in front of his nose. He has no idea where the hell he is, how he got here or when. He doesn't know how he got naked or why and frankly, it's not something he wants to spend too much time thinking about.

Dean rolls onto his side and slowly eases himself into a sitting position. On the bright side, he doesn't think he's seriously injured. His wrists hurt like a bitch where the inflexible strands of rope are cutting into them, and his muscles are stiff and aching but that's it, apart from the mother of all headaches that's thumping behind his eyes. He shivers, noticing for the first time just how cold it is. The blinding pain in his head is making it nearly impossible to think clearly. And he needs to think. To focus. An unfocused hunter is a dead hunter.

What’s the last thing he remembers? The hunt, right? There had to be a hunt. There’s always a freaking hunt. He and Dad were hunting… hunting something… something…  _ fuck _ ! Something that ate its victims! Aw hell, its coming back to Dean now and he kind of wishes it wasn't because he remembers finding the last victim and it wasn't a pretty sight. 

Dean isn’t too embarrassed to admit he’d lost his lunch right over his boots when he'd spotted the grisly remains. Strips of peeled skin had dangled from the ravaged body and huge chunks of flesh had been ripped away. Bite marks were scattered all over what was left of the poor bastard and on the scorched skin of his face —the only body part that hadn’t been chewed on— was a frozen look of terror that Dean would have nightmares about forever. 

Dad had managed to grab a copy of the autopsy report and even he’d turned green by the time he’d finished reading. Summing it up succinctly, he told Dean, “Poor fucker was roasted alive and eaten before he even had a chance to die.”

Fuck!

Dad, where the hell is Dad? He’s obviously not here. Dean would be able to tell if there was someone else trapped in this hellhole with him, breathing in the same rank air. There’s definitely not. 

The last thing he remembers is sitting in the motel room, discussing with Dad what they were looking for. It was something humanoid and relatively intelligent rather than an animal. A black dog or a chupacabra doesn't go to the effort of barbecuing their prey; they just have at you raw and on the run. Dad had scoured his books but hadn’t quite figured it out. 

That's right, Dean remembers now, his Dad had finally decided to swallow his pride and call Bobby Singer for advice. Opting to give the floorshow of the pair of them bitching at each other like an old married couple a miss, Dean decided to go find something to eat instead. He'd just opened the door to the impala when… bam, something had whacked him over the head. 

That explains the throbbing ache behind his eyes then. He hopes Dad is already looking for him because, honestly, he is close to freaking the fuck out. 

Dean shuffles backwards on his butt across the concrete floor until his back hits a bare brick wall. Frantically, he rubs the rope around his wrists against the rough surface, hissing at the fierce sting as he scrapes the skin from his arms in the process. It's probably a huge waste of time. But, there’s an outside chance that the rope will fray enough to let him break free and, Jesus, Dean has to do something, he can't just sit here waiting to end up monster chow.

Dean’s breath hitches involuntarily at the sound of approaching footsteps, his heartbeat picking up speed. He tries to tell himself to calm down. He's a bad-ass hunter. He's been in worse fixes than this, but his heart doesn't seem to get the message. It's thudding so hard it feels like it's trying to break free from his chest. 

The door opens with a squeal, harsh fluorescent light spilling into the room. Drawing his knees up to his chest in a desperate attempt at modesty, Dean squints at the figure standing in the light. It looks like a man, a huge ugly fucker built like an outhouse, but still just a man. Then he opens his mouth. Dean sucks in a sharp breath. The guy’s teeth look as though they’ve been filed into razor sharp points like a great white shark. 

Dean instinctively lurches backwards, plastering himself against the wall. The guy just stands staring at him. 

The first part of Dean that comes back online, as usual, is his mouth.

"My Dad's gonna kill you."

"Well, your Daddy will have to find us first so we're not too worried. We'll have time for plenty of fun before then." 

The man… monster…  _ thing _ stalks closer to Dean as he speaks, running his gaze over Dean's naked body. His tongue flicks from his mouth, licking over his lips and making Dean’s hair stand on end. Dean scrunches himself up into a tight ball and God, he's so glad he never got as far as finding something to eat because his stomach is trying to turn itself inside out. 

Despite the fear rippling down his spine or maybe because of it, his defensive instincts have his mouth running before his brain can even catch up. "You sick fuck, you think it's fun to eat people? When my Dad gets here he's gonna slice your goddamn head off, see how funny you think that is."

The monster quirks his head to the side and stares calmly at him, "You think we're going to eat you?"

"I've seen the bodies you left behind, you dumb motherfucker. I know what you did to them, how you chewed on them like turkey drumsticks before the poor schmucks were even dead.” 

With a sudden desperate burst of energy, Dean pushes back against the wall behind him and launches himself up and forward towards the man, aiming his head towards the guy’s stomach or crotch, anywhere soft and vulnerable. His head makes contact with the man's groin sending him stumbling backwards and taking him down to the floor, Dean sprawled on top of him. Before Dean can take advantage of the situation, more hands are grabbing him, dragging him off. He’s flung effortlessly back against the wall, crumpling to the ground with a groan. A violent kick to his head turns the lights out again.

The next time he wakes up his headache is still pounding away like a high-school marching band on acid, but this time he remembers exactly what happened and where he is. Well, more or less where he is, because he quickly realizes he’s in the humiliating position of being carried like a sack of potatoes over someone's shoulder. He struggles and kicks, trying to force them to drop him but the firm grip on his legs only tightens. 

When they come to a sudden stop, Dean's world flips upside down, or more accurately, right way up again. He’s dropped on to his back. On top of a huge wooden table. He’s surrounded by half a dozen men just as built as the guy he tackled to the ground but from what he can see at least their teeth don’t look like they belong in a Jaws movie. He has never been so scared in his life but fuck if he’s going to let them know that.

"What's up, guys? You want a piece of this fine ass ‘cause I gotta tell you, I don't swing that way."

The one standing nearest to Dean’s head grins down at him, "Oh, we're going to have a piece of you pretty boy, don't worry. Not sure who's going to get your ass though, maybe we'll draw lots for it." He runs his pudgy fingers across Dean's face and down over his chest. "There's not a lot of meat on these bones but what's there sure looks tasty."

"I hope you fucking choke on me, ass-wipe," Dean spits back. Fear writhes in his guts though and instinctually he tries to fight his way from the table. It’s a futile escape attempt. His hands are pinned beneath his back and there’s just too many of them. Someone slaps his face and then grasps his throat, pushing his head back, pinning it to the table. More hands press down on his limbs. Dean bucks wildly, but his panicked thrashing only draws only laughter from his amused captors. Eventually exhaustion wins out. The fight drains from his body leaving him soaked in a cold sweat, shaking, and dry mouthed.

The man with his hand circling Dean's throat bends down until his mouth hovers right next to Dean's ear. "If you don't calm down, I’m going to hack off your balls right now and stuff them in your mouth, then I’m going to slice off your cock and shove it up your ass." He laughs at Dean’s flinch, then licks a long wet line from Dean's jaw over his cheek. "You taste so damn good, boy. I'm gonna enjoy tonight."

"You picked the wrong fucking dinner date this time you assholes. My dad is gonna hunt every one of you bastards down and rip your fugly heads off."

Amid cackles of laughter, the same infuriatingly calm voice whispers in his ear. “Well, sweetheart, at least our last meal is going to taste delicious."

It's like being surrounded by a pack of hyenas and that's a disturbing image, but not as disturbing as the massive hypodermic needle being brandished with malicious glee by shark toothed monster number one. Dean's helpless to do anything but yell as the needle is rammed into the thick muscle of his thigh.

"There you go, sweetheart. That’s gonna calm you right down. You know that meat doesn't taste as good if the animal's stressed and we wouldn't want anything to spoil the taste of your sweet hide."

Whatever drug is in that syringe must be potent because within minutes, the tension eases out of Dean’s muscles and a smog like haze settles in his head. It also has the side-effect of muffling the pounding pain in his temples so there is a glimmer of a silver lining. 

The hands restraining him ease up, and begin instead to massage and caress his naked body. Dean wants to be revolted by the touches, wants to pull away, he really does, but it feels amazing. His body is lighting up with every touch, forcing his dick to take an interest, growing thick and heavy between his legs. The taunts and laughter around him barely penetrate his clouded head.

"Look at the little lamb’s pretty cock getting all excited."

"It's just begging to be gobbled up."

A hand wraps around his cock, jacking it steadily until it's fully hard, curving towards his stomach. All the while trailing fingers tease and fondle him. Distantly, in his head, Dean is begging for them to stop, screaming for someone to help him but all that tumbles out of his mouth are hurt little gasps as his hips thrust up into the warm fist tugging on his dick. He watches as a mouth lowers towards his cock, opening wide to display pin sharp teeth. Horror cuts through the fuzz in his head, but he has nowhere to go. There’s nothing he can do but pray.

Dear God he wants to pass out. Please, please, let the pain knock him out. Please, God. He clenches his eyes shut and waits for hell to arrive. Then a tongue licks from his balls up the underside of his stiff cock and over the head. Over and over again, his dick is licked until its dripping wet with spit and dancing in need, then he's being sucked deep into a warm mouth. He knows his cock is leaking, can feel the precome spilling out, being milked from him. And fuck, it feels good. The air around him soon fills with a mixture of labored panting breaths and mocking laughter.

“Does he taste good? Bet he tastes delicious. Look at his balls, so fucking full they look like they’re gonna pop.”

More mouths descend greedily on his cock and soon multiple tongues are licking, flicking and fighting over his dick and balls. Despite being trapped in this horrendous nightmare, his cock is relishing the attention. It takes no time at all, and fucking forever, before he feels his balls tighten up and a familiar tingling sensation flow through him, warning him he's about to shoot his load. It must be obvious to everyone else as well because just before his orgasm rushes through him, every teasing touch and lick ceases. He's left humping up desperately into thin air. A hand grips his cock and Dean thinks for a glorious second it might be enough to push him over the edge. Instead, the firm grip holds him steady while thin twine is twisted and tied around his balls then criss-crossed up and over his cock.

“Look at that pretty dick all tied up like a Christmas present for us. You didn't honestly think we were going to let you come, did you? No, we just had to make sure those delicious balls were ready to burst. Mmm, they're gonna be so juicy. I can't wait to get them in my mouth."

Dean can't stop the tears pooling in his eyes from spilling out and dripping down his cheeks. The worst thing is, he doesn't know if they are tears of terror, pain or frustration.

"Now you're nice and relaxed, let’s prepare you for dinner. The rest of our pack are waiting in the dining room so I’m afraid we don't have much time."

"Damn it, does that mean we don't have time to roast him?" Someone asks.

"I'm afraid not, I know you like your meat well done but this pretty boy is going to taste delectable just the way he is."

Dean's tongue feels twice it's normal size, bulging and swollen in his mouth and it's a fight for him to speak, especially with the drugs coursing through his blood and his bound cock throbbing painfully between his legs.

"Let me… me… go you b...b....bastards," he eventually spits out. Even in his drugged haze he knows he sounds pathetic.

"Someone shut the pig up," is the only answer he hears. Laughter echoes around him.

"Alright, piggy, open up."

Dean doesn’t quite grasp what’s happening when an apple is waved in front of his face but if they want him to open his mouth then he is going to clench his teeth together as hard as he can. Fuck ‘em.

Fingers dig painfully into his face at the hinges of his jaw. "Either you open up that pretty mouth of yours or I'll break your face."

Dean can tell a bluff when he hears one and that… that wasn’t a bluff. Reluctantly he relaxes his jaw and opens up. An unwanted helping hand forces his mouth wide open and a big green apple is shoved in further than should be possible, definitely further than is comfortable.

"Don't even think about spitting that out or the next thing that'll get rammed in there will be your balls."

Dean doesn't have time to be terrified by that before his legs are pushed up, knees bent and twine wrapped and knotted around them securing his calves to his thighs. The twine doesn’t feel as though it’s tied too tightly and if he gets half a chance —once the effects of the drugs ease up— Dean thinks he should be able to escape the loose bindings, but then he’s flipped over onto his front. He ends up balancing on his knees with his chest pressed to the table, his naked ass pushed high in the air and his arms tied fast behind his back. He is completely humiliatingly vulnerable. Totally helpless. Countless hands return to his body, massaging every accessible inch of bare skin.

"Does that feel good, pretty boy? You like that, huh?”

And yes, it does feel good. Everywhere they touch is left warm and tingling. It’s not until fingers brush over his stretched lips that he realizes they’re rubbing heated oil into his skin. A finger trails lightly down his spine, through the path between his ass-cheeks and pushes slowly into his hole. 

Dean squirms at the intrusion, he's never had anything in his ass before. It feels wrong and dirty and…  _ God _ ... it feels fucking amazing. The finger sinks deeper inside his ass, spreading the oil around his insides, stretching his virgin hole open. A flare of pleasure shoots to his dick, and he guesses they’ve found his prostate. He can’t help wriggling back onto the finger buried inside him; chasing pleasure his only instinct. He grunts in frustration when the finger disappears leaving him distressingly empty. A second later he registers that the oil in his ass is heating up, a burning itch crawling through him. 

If the apple wasn’t muzzling him, he would be begging for something to be shoved in his ass, something to fill him up and quieten the sudden urge he has to be stuffed full.

“Oh boy, you look fucking delicious. Everyone is gonna want a piece of you.”

“Look at the eager slut, he’s begging for something to get rammed up that needy hole of his. What do you think, should we give him a bit of a relief, let him scratch that itch before we take him through for the main course.”

Yes, yes, please, thinks Dean, he needs something in his ass so bad, it’s aching with emptiness.

“What about this?”

“Yeah, that’s one fucking giant carrot, that’s perfect . Okay, piggy, we’re going to stuff you now. Don’t worry it’ll feel real good.”

The slide of something cold and solid into his ass instantly gives Dean some relief from the weird heat spreading through him. He shoves back impatiently, impaling himself on the object, not caring what it is. Despite the drugs, he flushes with humiliation at the taunting laughter that ripples through the room.

“Right, let’s go serve up this delicious treat. You got something to push him through on? Fuck yes, that’s excellent. Okay boys, lets go.”

Dean feels himself being lifted up from the table and placed onto an ice-cold surface sending shivers skittering over his heated skin. Trying hard to focus on his surroundings, he sees shining silver underneath him and with a jolt he realizes he’s lying on a large oval plate and when he moves, it hits him. He is trussed and bound like a turkey, coated in oil, with an apple stuffed in his mouth, a carrot shoved in his hole, lying ass-up on a silver platter, being wheeled through to a dining room to be devoured by a roomful of monsters. This… this is not good.

Dean knows he should keep his eyes open. He's endured so many lectures on the subject that it's ingrained deep in his psyche by now. Hunter rule No.4: Always be aware of your surroundings. How this is best achieved when stripped naked and hog-tied on a serving plate, en route to a dinner table, isn't something his Dad's training ever covered though. 

His helpless body is out of control, on fire, burning up slowly from its core. His blood creeping so slowly through his veins that his brain feels as though it's drowning in tar. He fights to swallow down the growing feeling of nausea crawling up his throat, but he can’t stop his eyes from screwing shut. 

Goosebumps break out over his skin where the frigid air weaves its tendrils around him as he is wheeled through the eerily quiet halls. Despite his tight bonds, his body shudders, confused between the heat emanating from the oil so thoroughly coating him, inside and out, and the cold damp air.

The cart, or whatever it is he’s being transported on, jumps and rattles underneath him. Dean jerks instinctively to keep his balance as he's slammed into something. A door. He’s being pushed through a door into another room. A rowdy cheer and piercing wolf-whistles greet his arrival and Dean isn't even slightly tempted to pry open his eyes now.

One thunderous voice booms over the background noise and Dean's gut spasms in fear. He can taste the puke crawling up from his gullet now and swallows hard in a terrified panic to suppress it.

"You've outdone yourselves this time, gentlemen." The deep voice bellows as Dean feels the platter he's presented on being lifted up and placed onto a more stable surface, a table presumably.

"This is a delectable looking dish for sure. A fine sacrifice to conclude our festivities. Let's all raise our glasses and toast another successful gathering."

How freaking civilised, the random thought swims briefly through Dean's fogged head as a cacophony of cheers and clinking glasses reverberates through the room.

"Someone pass me the blade and I shall start the proceedings."

Dean can't breathe. He thinks,  _ hopes _ , that his body will allow him the small mercy of blacking out before he suffers the slow agonizing death that's surely imminent. But his stubborn heartbeat insists on pounding relentlessly in his ears.

The bite of a cold knife edge settles on the back of his neck and the room goes chillingly silent. The blade draws a line straight down the ridges of Dean's spine but the searing pain he expects to follow never materializes. The knife trails down past Dean's bound arms and doesn't stop until it reaches the curve of his ass.

"A carrot gentlemen? Was that really the best thing you could find to stuff our little piggy with? I'm sure I can come up with something more suitable."

With a jolt the carrot lodged in his ass is yanked free leaving Dean trembling in shock. It feels abruptly like an integral part of him is missing and he struggles to breathe through his nose as panic overruns him. Suddenly the inherent need to have something shoved deep in his ass, clouds out everything else. Even surpassing the looming terror of being ripped apart, and eaten like a rare steak. 

Dean's eyes fly open and a squeal of distress squeezes past the apple gagging him. He's aware enough to take in his surroundings; the dim flickering lights, the long wooden table blanketed by a white cotton cloth, men crowded around, eyes unnaturally black, mouths open and salivating. All he really cares about though is the hunger gnawing at him demanding to be satisfied.

The blade scrapes over his legs, so lightly it tickles against the fine hairs standing up on his thighs. It's almost a relief, an end to the interminable waiting when the pressure of the knife increases. Two swift slices, one across each leg. A brief flash of stinging pain. Dean waits for the blood to drain from his body. Expects to see a spreading pool of red fan out on the crisp white tablecloth. Instead, his legs fall like dead-weights to the table. The ropes binding them slashed. Poor blood-flow and a drug-infused haze still rendering them pathetically weak.

A baying laugh sounds behind Dean. He’s dragged backwards from the silver serving dish by the rope knotted around his wrists. His legs end up dangling down over the table edge, toes skimming the tiled floor, his dick trapped between his stomach and the table-top, and his naked butt on clear display. Rough hands clasp the cheeks of his ass and spread them apart until it feels as though he's being ripped in half, his empty asshole exposed for all to see.

The first nudge of something hot and thick against his aching hole has Dean pushing his ass back greedily. All the fear, the anger, all the panic and dread disappear. He wants something buried deep inside him now, anything, he doesn't care what as long as it eases the awful emptiness.

Fingers twist in the short strands of his hair forcing his head back as his asshole is rammed full of cock in one brutal thrust. Yes, thinks Dean. God, yes please.

The serrated edge of a hunting knife advances towards the defenseless curve of Dean’s bared throat. Instead of the knife slicing across his jugular however, it slams into the apple gagging his mouth, stopping harmlessly before it even touches his lips. When the knife withdraws, the apple breaks apart and falls from Dean's open mouth.

"That's better isn't it, piggy. We want to be able to hear you beg, don't we?"

Dean misses the apple, wants to demand its return. He doesn't want to beg. Doesn't want to be reduced to that, but he knows if the cock buried in his ass abandons him, he won't be able to stop himself.

The hand grasping his hair lets go and his head thunks down onto the solid table. But the only noise that spills from Dean’s lips is a groan of approval as hands roam across his oil-slicked skin and his ass is split open and stuffed full.

The dick slides slowly from his ass until it’s on the verge of slipping out completely, then stops and stills. Dean tries to push back, tries to impale himself on the stiff erection but one hand grips fiercely around the groove of his hip bone and another presses down on his restrained wrists holding him immobile. His cock tries desperately to harden even more in its prison and the knotted twine digs excruciatingly into delicate skin and still Dean wants…  _ needs _ more. The distressed whine he makes is met with jeers and laughter.

"What's wrong piggy? You want more? You want my cock? All you have to do is ask nicely. Ask me to fuck you and I'll fill that sweet little hole of yours right up."

'Motherfuckers' thinks Dean, but the words that flow from his lips in a hoarse rush are different. “Please, please fill me up please. I need… need to be fucked please."

The dick resting at the entrance of his hole slams into him and Dean nearly sobs in gratitude. He's held down and fucked viciously just the way he's desperate for. The obscene slap of balls hitting against the back of his ass join his own groans. The rising sound of heavy breathing saturating the air. The fingers gripping his hip dig in like talons. The cock in his ass pounds in faster, deeper and then as an exultant shout rings out, thrusts in one last time, hard enough to push the air from Dean's lungs. Maybe it's the effect of the oil or maybe it's the drugs, but Dean can feel the gush of wet heat inside of him as spurt after spurt of come fills him up. And, when the softening cock is dragged from his ass, he feels streams of spunk dripping out of his hole, running down the inside of his thighs.

Dean's dick, still trapped beneath him, pulses in need. His hole is desperate to be stuffed full again. He’s on the verge of humiliating himself even further by opening his mouth and begging when the palm of a hand slaps down firmly on his ass and he practically vibrates off the table in dizzy pleasure.

"Okay, gentleman. He’s all yours."

It's like being at the center of a stampede. There's a scrape of chairs and a scuffle of feet, Dean sees punches being thrown at the furthest end of the table and then… his ass is welcoming in another cock and, Jesus, it's even thicker, cramming his hole satisfyingly full. If he could just come he'd be in goddamn heaven.

He's fucked over the table again and again until he's biting the ruined white cloth that his face is mashed against to stop himself from begging to come, and then he's hauled upright, pushed onto someone's lap on a chair. It doesn't take much encouragement to have him bouncing enthusiastically on the offered cock, uncaring that his thighs are burning with the effort as his wrists are still strapped unhelpfully behind his back. 

When yet another load of come joins the mess already pouring out of him, he's passed onto someone else's lap facing outwards this time. Now with every thrust, the dick inside of him brushes against that sensitive spot that sets every nerve in his body on fire. Fingers pinch his nipples and brush over every inch of available skin and then his mouth is stuffed with the weight of someone’s hairy balls. A musty taste floods his mouth making him gag but his dick just twitches uncaring in its torturous bonds chasing the desperate high of release.

In a small insignificant corner of his mind, Dean knows how screwed up this all is, knows how shamelessly he's acting, but all he can think is that if he doesn't get to come soon his dick's gonna fucking fall off. When the balls are tugged free from his mouth and his face is splattered in its first creamy load of come, he sees the hunting knife return. Hands are everywhere, holding him steady as the knife advances on his trapped junk. With one precise flick, the tangle of twine wrapped around his cock and balls falls away. Dean convulses, jerks violently forward and yells as much in pain as rapture as his orgasm crashes through him.

Allowed no time to recover, Dean is thrown gracelessly to the floor on top of grinning shark-toothed guy whose angry scarlet headed cock is waiting impatiently for its chance to use Dean's abused hole. With help, Dean sinks down on it, riding it clumsily until his own cock is stiff again, and then he's shoved forward until his neck is dangerously close to those pin sharp teeth. A heavy weight pushes against his back, hands grab his shoulders for purchase and another cock nudges it's way slowly into his already full asshole. A scream erupts from his mouth, shrill and upsetting to his own ears until a cock thrusts in there too, bumping against the back of his throat and effectively gagging him.

  
At last the final piece of the puzzle falls into place. He's stuffed full in every way possible and his blood sings in ecstasy. Dean’s never felt so whole in his life. 

He has no idea how long it is until the last cock pulls out of his fucked raw hole. He curls exhausted into a fetal position on the tacky floor. His own spent dick lies soft and sticky against his stomach. Strings of come decorate every part of his body but at last the insatiable carnal hunger consuming him has abated.

"Thank you very much gentlemen. That was a wonderful conclusion to our annual gathering. Now, if I can have a little help disposing of our dinner guest here, it would be gratefully appreciated."

The carefully aimed shove of a heavy soled boot between his shoulder blades pushes Dean onto his front and his stomach lurches dangerously when someone straddles his back. The remaining tatters of his hunting instincts have him trying to buck off the solid weight pressing him to the floor but it's a laughably pathetic battle. He's wrung out, in pain and his arms are still tied uselessly behind him. A day old kitten could overpower him right now.

"Don't be silly, Dean," the same deep voice from before reprimands. "Hold still like an obedient little fuck toy."

A shiver runs down Dean's spine as something scratches into his skin across the middle of his back.

"Because you've been so marvelously entertaining this evening I'm leaving you a little gift. I’ve very kindly written the name of the vile creature that you and your father have been hunting so incompetently across your back. When we drop you back at your quaint little motel, make sure you let Daddy see it before you clean yourself up. Wouldn't want him missing something this important would we?"

This time Dean doesn't manage to swallow down the puke that hits the back of his throat.

  
  



End file.
